James Smith: Hybrid

The gook had run out of ammo, too.

Corey felt no remorse when his dagger penetrated the victim’s rib cage. He twisted the weapon into the gook’s lungs and watched him gurgle up blood as he struggled to cry out. The kid didn’t look older than fourteen. Dumb shit should’ve known better than to take on a United States Marine.

Steam from the hot spring suddenly swirled around him and the stench of sulfur burned like a flame inside his nose. He spat out the foul taste of acid and then slung his knife into the dirt. His fingers couldn’t function to unbutton his collar, so he ripped open his shirt with both hands. Sweat streamed down his face and neck and gathered at his collarbone before dripping off his chin.

He yanked the knife from the ground and slashed at the air, darting, weaving.

The wolf charged and lunged for his head.

Corey dived to earth.

The creature overshot him and crashed into the weeds, spinning around. He rose up on his hands and knees and waved the knife in wide circles, motioning with his free hand toward the fierce beast.

C’mon! Come to Daddy.

When the wolf charged again, he rolled away at the last instant and thrust his knife at the animal’s belly. It yowled when it hit the dirt. The tip of the blade had ripped into its hindquarters.

Corey jumped to his feet, but reeled around too quickly. He slipped and stumbled backwards into the hot spring.

The stinging deep within felt as if someone had set fire to his gut. The scorching heat of the boiling water paralyzed his legs. He struggled to breathe the putrid air as the water rose to his chest. He reached out and ploughed his fingernails into the dirt to lug his body out of the spring.

The juniper shrub he flailed at was just out of reach. When the tips of his fingers brushed a root, he lurched with his hand until he could grab hold. He dragged his chest and stomach over the jagged rim as his bones scraped against the inside of his flesh. A layer of parched skin peeled off at the mineralized edge of the spring, leaving behind a ghostlike sheath of his scalded arm—the perfect likeness of his wrist and fingers.

No longer having the strength nor will to hold on, he slowly slid back into the water, unable to scream, only sob. A dark outline of the wolf appeared through the haze. The creature sat calmly, watching him submerge through amber eyes.

He sank beneath the surface, astonished by the perfect clarity of the water. But the brilliant colors of the mineral walls began to blur and the image faded into cinder gray before vanishing into black. He gasped for breath and swallowed the superheated water that seared his gullet on its way down.

Michaelawoke from what sounded like gunfire in the distance. He sat up, shivering.

The rain had stopped. A dense fog loomed over the path and trees. The wet cold soaked through his pants and clung to his damp skin.

Where was everyone? Why did they leave him behind?

He jumped to his feet and shouted for Mr. Farmington. Then for Mr. Struthers.

Anybody?

Famished, he wandered into the trees and searched for berries or anything with color growing from the bushes. A patch of blue and white wildflowers—curly ones— reared up from the ground. He bent down and sniffed, then took a big whiff. He plucked one and licked at it with the tip of his tongue. Holding the flower in his fist, he stretched his lips wide, bit into the bloom and chewed on it with his back teeth. He quickly spat it all out and wiped his lips and tongue with the sleeve of his jacket.

Then he remembered. He dropped to his knees, zipped open his backpack, and searched through the trash until he found a package of Juicy Fruit gum. He scraped at the wrapper with his fingernails until he could open the package and pull out a stick. After fumbling to unwrap it, he shoved it into his mouth. Unwrapping two more, he crammed them in as well.

With arms looped through his backpack, he turned to find the way back to the hiking path and search for the others. Then he remembered what Mr. Farmington warned at the troop meeting.

If you ever get lost, stay put. Never wander away.

The middle of the trail seemed the best place to squat. When he pursed his lips to whistle, nothing but a stream of spit blew out from his gum-packed jaws.

A song came into his head, the one he’d learned in Mr. Struther’s car on the way to the campground. He made believe he was in the backseat again and he sang out. “Do your ears hang low…”

He tossed out each word as if he might be embarrassed for someone to hear. “Do they wobble to and fro…”

He paused. Something was moving far down the trail. But he couldn’t be sure.

“Can you tie them in a knot…”

He stopped chewing for a moment to listen. Afraid to move or breathe, he carefully turned his head about and scanned the trees.

“Can you tie… them in a bow?”

Something was moving his way. He jumped up and ducked into the weeds.

First, a loud hissing and then flapping wings shattered the cool air. A fat grouse flopped on the ground in a blaring fuss, guarding her nest. He pedaled backward and gave the bird all the space it demanded until he suddenly tripped and fell into the wet weeds.

“Michael!” a voice called out. “Is that you, Michael?”

A rain-drenched Amy was running toward him. He lowered his head to his chest so she couldn’t see him cry.

Dieter lay still, studying the scene. He crawled back to Josh’s side. “How you doing, partner?”

Under the shelter of thick pine Josh was dry but pale. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Josh said. He struggled to sit up.

“Hold on.” Dieter grabbed him and lowered him back to the ground. He had to go for help, but he was at least two hours away from the truck. How could he leave Josh alone? On the other hand, how long could he wait it out?

A throng of ravens fluttered in overhead. The antenna and meter that he’d pitched to the ground caught his eye. The red light was slowly blinking.

Rocko jolted up. Dieter threw a hand over the llama’s back. “Get down, boy,” he whispered. Rocko cuddled beside Josh and braced, the llama’s ears swiveling and pointing. The red light on the meter flashed faster.

Dieter crawled back to the underbrush and reached inside his jacket for the .44 Magnum.

A colossal wolf with a coat of burnished black and traces of silver on its mane loped along the opposite bank. It held its head high as if onto a scent. A leather collar surrounded its neck and a patch of blood mysteriously stained its hindquarters. The wolf hobbled in their direction and waded through the shallow water where it perched on a rock to survey the area. It picked up its hind leg to lick the wound.

Dieter lay flat and squeezed the revolver with both quivering hands. He rammed the butt of the gun into the mud and as he remembered Cory’s warning: If a ranger of mine catches anyone even looking like he’s hunting wolves… the full force of the law… slamming down like a sledge hammer?

Not that Corey’s threats mattered. Why the hell should they?

Never had Dieter imagined that he would find himself in this position: about to shoot a defenseless animal. Death had to be quick and painless. That was only right.

The wolf leaped onto another rock, but quickly slipped into the rushing water. Kicking with all fours, it found a smaller rock to climb on and then took a final leap onto the graveled shoreline. Once more it stretched its muzzle around to lick at blood before turning in Dieter’s direction.

Holding tight to the revolver, he slowly rose to his feet and began to creep toward the wolf, which retreated toward the steep embankment. Dieter lifted the revolver with extended arms and took aim at its head as a drizzly rain returned.